The red thread of the Drift
by Casey Toh
Summary: The farther the distance between the two pilots, the stronger the Drift pulls on each of them. Everyone always thought that Herc and Chuck never got a chance to say goodbye, but that's what the Jaeger pilots have never told anyone else - the Ghost-Drift is strong.


**The Red Thread of the Drift**

" _Hey, now. When you Drift with someone, you feel like there's nothing to talk about. I just don't want to regret all the things that I've never said out loud."_

" _Don't. You don't need to. I know them all. I always have."_

Ghost-Drifting – a term that the Jaeger pilots had created after years of Neural Handshakes in the Pons units, both in and out of their Jaegers. Even the inventor of the Pons systems experienced it. They'd always kept the extent of the effects of the Drift more hush-hush than not, the pilots, as long as it didn't interfere with Kaiju-fighting.

 _The farther the distance between the two pilots, the stronger the Drift pulls on each of them._

"Stacker!" Those who had been on guard duty or who had been passing by heard those words and thought that they were were the last face-to-face words Acting-Marshal Hercules Hansen had ever said to his son, even though they were directed at his longtime friend and former Marshal. "That's my son you got there. My _son_."

It had been a very long time – years – since Hercules and Charles Hansen had been physically apart farther than the distance of a Shatterdome. After all, it was well-known that co-pilots of a Jaeger frequently went nearly everywhere together, and despite the turbulent relationship of the Hansens, Chuck had made sure to never go too far from his father. The old man needed a level head around, needed looking after, after all.

Whenever Herc caught that in the Drift, he had to scoff before he allowed himself to chuckle.

So, when the older Hansen felt a sudden jolt of cold engulf his body, moving from his feet to solar plexus in a matter of seconds, he was glad that everyone else in LOCCENT was too engaged in monitoring Operation Pitfall to have noticed his slight flinch. But Max was already pulling him forward.

Before him, coming clearly through the comms set, he heard Chuck's voice. "LOCCENT, all ports sealed. Ready to submerge," and then Raleigh's echoing update.

Herc blinked. The cold had moved itself upwards, and his scalp tingled with what felt like the memory of pins and needles, sweeping too quickly past to leave too lasting an impact. He took a quick glance at the information displayed just before Tendo Choi, and then clicked the mic on. "Two actives still in circle formation around the Guam Quadrant. Codenames: Scunner, and Raiju. Both Category 4."

A tug at the leash showed him that Max had settled down onto the floor like he always did whenever Herc and Chuck were deployed, the rest of LOCCENT told them. It soothed the bulldog to hear his master's voice even over the comms.

Tendo's alarmed voice jerked Herc back into attention. He had to get used to giving information and orders as Acting Marshal, but he was a Ranger, for chrissakes. He should be receiving orders, not giving them, not receiving firsthand information about Scunner and Raiju and who the hell came up with these codenames anyway?

"Eyes on the prize, Gipsy! 600 meters from the drop!"

When Herc's knees buckled for just a moment before he recovered and straightened up, he was glad that he had been leaning most of his weight on his arm and against the console. On the HUDs, Striker had just leapt off a short cliff and recovered from its jump.

"400 meters and closing!"

And after that, it was pretty much all a blur to Herc, as whatever orders he gave through the mic was belayed by Stacker. He could sense a growing distress in him, enveloped by sheer focus, the cold of deep water on metal flesh, the slight compensations he'd to adjust to every moment because of unseen currents nudging him.

He remembered the two scientists, Gieszler and Gottlieb, shoving their way past him and taking control of the mic, rattling off a whole slew of almost nonsensical information before Herc shoved them away again. "All right, now that you've heard all that, Striker, take the leap."

Tendo cast him a concerned glance when he gasped out, almost as if someone had punched him hard in the gut, followed by another sharp punch to his kidneys. Over the comms, the startled grunts of Striker's pilots crackled through.

Herc had barely recovered from that and shouted out a warning to Gipsy's pilots about Raiju heading straight from them, when he felt another hit shudder through his whole body, and his world flipped for a moment. His arms started to cramp.

At the back of his mind, flashes almost like long-forgotten memories started. Colors. Red and black, flashing red and black. The occasional green of console buttons. A warm body pressed by his right calf that was Max.

" _What can we do, sir?"_

Chuck's voice was too loud, coming over the comms as well as what felt like the inside of his head.

"We can clear a path for the lady."

"They're going to detonate the payload." Tendo's voice was soft, but Herc already knew what Striker's plan was.

" _Well, my father always said, he said 'If you had the shot, you take it.' So let's do this! It was a pleasure, sir."_

Herc shut his eyes. They felt hot and wet. He felt Chuck reach for the button to arm the payload.

One second –

The light indicator on the console, showing Striker's Pilot 2 arming the payload, came on

Three seconds –

The other indicator flicked on

Seven seconds –

"Sensei, aishitemasu."

He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't see the moment when the blip on the HUD vanished.

 _Chuck, son, I love –_

 _Take care of yourself, old man. Don't forget to feed Max._


End file.
